The Sons of Anarchy Smut Collection
by latexidermist
Summary: A series of smutty scenes (featuring Gemma Teller-Morrow, of course) whether in an alternate universe or not, with a plot or not (and varying plots indeed). Varying Sons of Anarchy characters will make an appearance - be prepared.
1. Elliott

**Beginning Notes:** I always hate the fact that **_A)_** FFN SOA category seems to hate Gemma, because she's hardly got anything here and _**B)**_ What she does have, has very little smut. So I'm joining in with my favorite character and bringing you an entire ficlet series of smut (slowly). Because who doesn't love a ficlet series of smut?

 **Summary:** Elliott comes home smelling like another woman. In the process of making sure that the bitch knows he's not free dick, Gemma gets a bit distracted.

* * *

 **Not Quite Owned, Not Quite Free**

Gemma looks up from her spot on the couch as the wooden front door swings open and Elliott steps into the house. Immediately her expression brightens entirely - she hadn't seen him all day, she was elated that he was finally home. Although he looks worn after a long day at the construction company, so she's glad that dinner is already cooked and is waiting for him on the stove.

When she and Elliott first got serious, she didn't think she'd be able to settle into the simple housewife duties. Of course, with John she was a housewife too, but she had Clubhouse and Teller-Morrow responsibilities as well. She was constantly moving - there was never _nothing to do_ , especially with an outlaw motorcycle club at her heels. When she married Elliott, she realized that she'd be giving that fast-paced lifestyle up. Especially for Jax - it'd be taking him away from a life that he was already accustomed to. She already knew the courts would automatically give her full custody without visitation - they disliked the Sons of Anarchy from the moment they set foot in Charming.

But she's been finding herself fitting into the new way of life alright enough. It certainly wasn't _easy_. She wakes early, makes breakfast for everyone - that is, if Elliott's at home - and takes Jax to school. Afterwards, she comes home to clean, she goes grocery shopping, or she gardens. If she runs out of things to do before her son gets home, she'll read, knit or work on Elliott's public representation for the election - considering that by marrying him, she took on the job of PR agent. When Jax gets home, she starts dinner while he does his homework, and by the time she finishes dinner, Elliott's usually just getting in the door. On weekends, she takes Jax to baseball practice or his games.

It works out well enough, she fits into a routine.

"Hey baby," she calls, bookmarking her book and pushing off the couch. "How was work?"

"I wasn't at work today," he sighs, running a hand over his face. "I was working on mayoral election speeches with my PR agent."

" _I'm_ your PR agent," she reminds, curiosity marring her features. Elliott shrugs, lifts a lid on one of the pots on the stove. He sniffs the food there before taking a spoon from the drawer and shoveling some into his mouth.

"Not _officially_. You're… behind the scenes, if I may - you do the stuff others aren't equipped to do, and you know the stuff others aren't equipped to know. I have an actual _hired_ agent," he says around a mouthful of pasta. "Y'know. 'Cause my PR agent being the ex-wife of a biker is bad - like _really_ bad. It's nothing personal, baby, it's just-"

"Oh, no, I get it - politics are a bunch of dirty cunts," the ex-old lady sighs. She knew that by marrying her, Elliott had given the opposition something to put under the microscope. If he associated with the likes of _her_ , what kind of morals could he _possibly_ have? Women like Gemma - biker whores - _did not_ make for suitable Mayor's wives. But she knows Elliott loves her, and once all this shit is over - whether he wins or not - things can go back to normal between them. They'd just much rather he won.

She wraps her arms around his neck and leans in to give him their first kiss of the day, but her nose catches a traitorous scent lingering on him - or rather, on his _collar_. A women's perfume, and nothing that _she_ uses either. Gemma's perfumes are all heavy - almost like colognes. She'd been around men so long with the MC, she'd gotten accustomed to that smell in her perfumes. This is dainty, sweet - smells more like a body spritz than a perfume. Whoever wore this was someone who was a proper, prim lady. She recoils at the scent, and Elliott frowns when he doesn't receive the kiss he was eagerly expecting.

"What's wrong?" he asks, examining the scowl on her lips and the fury in her eyes. "What'd I do?"

"Whose perfume is that?" she spits, her warm tone faded into a cold and angered one. Now it's Elliott's turn to recoil - he visibly flinches at her tone. His hands resting on her waist, he holds her at arm's length and stares at her with a confused expression. "Don't give me that look - _goddamnit_ , Elliott! I don't need this shit, not from you! Not from-"

Her voice chokes up and he can tell she's going to cry - and if she's going to cry, she'll refuse to do it in front of him. Gemma attempts to pull away from him, but Elliott pulls her back to his chest - despite the struggle it is to do so. She beats her fists - which are surprisingly strong - against his chest and pushes at his arms, but he's stronger than her and he holds her in place.

"Whoa, whoa, _stop_ it! My PR agent's name is Carissa McCarthy - I didn't notice, but maybe she was wearing a perfume? I'm sorry, I'll tell her to let up on it."

"It's on your fucking collar!" Gemma growls, tears uncontrollably spilling from her eyes. "What fucking business does she have fucking hugging you? Answer that, you bastard! Or putting her fucking wrists or neck anywhere near your goddamn collar?"

Sighing reluctantly, Elliott blinks tiredly - wanting nothing more than to just put this behind and go to bed. He hadn't wanted to tell Gemma about Carissa's crush on him, because he knew she would react poorly - his wife was extremely jealous, and he didn't want to give her any reason not to trust him. In her last marriage, her husband had a whole new life across the ocean - she had every right to be a little jealous in this one, he had to admit. But he really did wish she'd trust him a little bit more, and that's why he kept Carissa's crush from her.

"Carissa likes me a bit. She's a tad… _friendly_. I told her I was married but she's persistent. It's nothing I can't handle, Gemma. I'm not going to betray you, baby - I love you and _only_ you. Else I wouldn't have married you," he assures, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. His arms encircle her waist and her hands eventually flatten against his chest, her muscles going lax. Elliott breathes a sigh of relief.

"Fine," she says, her tone still harsh, before burying her nails into the scruff of his hair and pulling him down for a rough kiss. It's nothing like their usual kisses - it's messy with nothing but teeth, and it takes him by surprise. The kiss bruises, and Gemma pushes him against the counter opposing the stove as they sloppily make out like horny teenagers. Elliott suddenly doesn't feel so tired - he eagerly allows her to take the lead, as it seems like that's what she wants to do.

Gemma pulls away from the kiss breathing hard with lips bruised, and Elliott knows he sports a similar picture. Her hands go to the hem of her shirt and she pulls the cloth over her head, revealing the lacy hot pink material beneath. Both of his eyebrows shoot to his hairline, but his wife just gives a smug grin as she discards the cloth to the kitchen floor and returns to kissing him.

"Wait," he says, breaking away. He's breathing hard when he speaks. "What're you doing?"

"Making sure that bitch knows to back down," she retorts, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm gonna mark you up - let the bitch know that you're not free dick."

Sometimes Elliott forgets that she wasn't always the _mostly_ quiet housewife he had married. She once ran with an outlaw biker gang, and she once fought in brawls and she once shot actual guns and was once a real bad girl. Sometimes he didn't forget - she made it hard to when she got dressed, since she never stopped wearing her black leather and lace - and he got aroused thinking about it. Now was one of those times.

"Okay - what about Jackson?"

"What about him?" she asks, her tone exasperated.

"Won't he… hear? Or… y'know… walk in?" Elliott asks nervously. He still was awkward around the younger man - the last thing he needed was for the kid to walk in and see him and his mother having sex. It would just make things even more embarrassing - for all parties involved. But Gemma rolls her eyes, switches them so that _her_ back is against the counter and begins working out of her tight black jeans.

"Jax has seen things most fifteen year olds _really_ shouldn't have to see," she admits, kicking her jeans aside. Elliott is temporarily distracted by the matching hot pink panties, but then his eyes find hers again. "Walking in on his mom screwing his step-dad would be a walk in the park - he's desensitized to it. Besides, I'm _loud_. Once he starts hearing me, he'll know to just stay in his room. Now get over here and _shut the fuck up._ "

Elliott obeys, allowing his wife to pull him over by his tie. She tugs the tie off and tosses it to the kitchen floor with her blouse, sending his suit jacket and button-up following. He crashes his mouth back onto hers and hoists her onto the counter by her waist before planting his hands firmly on either side of her thighs. Gemma tears her mouth away from his and slides it down his neck - wetly suckling on the pale flesh there. Meanwhile, her hands work at his belt buckle - she gives a triumphant snort when the belt joins the rest of their clothes on the kitchen tiles. Eventually her nimble fingers slide his zipper down and push his pants open enough to get to his boxers.

"Foreplay or no?" she whispers sultrily in his ear before suckling on his earlobe. One of her hands palm his thick shaft through his boxers, and her other hand has slipped into her panties - touching herself. Elliott bites his lip at the sight - can feel himself stiffen considerably, paired with her touch. Now that she's got him all riled up, he's excited to just get to the best part of it.

"Nah - let's skip the foreplay and get to the fun," he whispers back. Gemma's eyes twinkle as she scoots closer to the edge of the counter and pulls him out of his boxers. Her hands stroke his member gently before she slides her panties down to her ankles and guides him towards her entrance. Elliott's grips her hips and pulls her closer to him, and she winces when he begins to slide in.

Eventually, he's down to the hilt, and his nails are digging into her flesh - so much so, that he can feel a few drops of blood slowly wet his fingertips. But he isn't the only one leaving marks - Gemma has already set to her mission. Her teeth scrape along the flesh on his neck, occasionally stopping to nip or bite. He can feel the bruises beginning to form there - knows she's picking spots that will peek out of all his collars. He smirks at her childish antics.

Elliott begins thrusting - his hips snapping back and forth rather forcefully. It wasn't often that he and Gemma had rough sex - mostly because he didn't like the idea of hurting her. So he tries to make it as good for her as possible - taking one bloodsoaked hand and burying it into the locks of her hair. He tugs at her hair - at first gently to test the waters, and then when she seems to enjoy that, harder. More _painful_.

He knows, because in responses her teeth sink into his shoulder and her nails drag down his shoulder blades. He groans at the sting of pain, and is surprised when it adds to his arousal. The burning in his shoulders only makes him hornier, and he thrusts harder and faster into his wife. What had been originally muffled quiet whimpers become loud moans of pleasure, and Gemma involuntarily tosses her head back.

" _Fuck…_ right there… like that, daddy…" she pants, bucking her hips to meet his. Elliott yanks her hair again and the noises coming out her mouth become pornographic - her initial mission long forgotten, although he knows he's been marked up pretty good. Her nails dig into his shoulder and like he had done to her, begin to draw blood eventually. Instead of being repulsed by it however, Gemma licks the blood from her fingers tantalizingly and Elliott grunts at the sight.

"Goddamnit…" he grunts, feeling his climax slowly starting to building. Gemma returns to her task of marking him up - biting down from right below his chin to the spot above his Adam's apple. After each nip, she swirls her tongue over the mark. Elliott doesn't need to tell her how good it feels - he responds by picking up his pace and force, and arching his hips upward. Apparently he hits a particular spot when he arches upward, because she tears her mouth away from him with a loud cry of pleasure - loud enough to wake the neighborhood.

"Fuck!" Gemma pants afterward, running a hand through her now sweaty hair. "Do… do that again."

Elliott does as told - thrusting forcefully and arching upward at the same time. He must hit that spot again, because Gemma's eyes roll back in her head and she brings her bottom lip between her teeth. Smirking to himself, Elliott attempts to hit this spot with each thrust - and it doesn't take long to have his wife shuddering with her first orgasm.

Her nails scrape down his back, her eyes roll back in her head, and her mouth opens in a loud moan of his name. Elliott briefly slows down at the sight, taking it in. She looks so damn sexy right there, and he wishes he could reach his phone to snap a photo. Instead he goes about remembering every detail of the image as he fucks her slowly through her orgasm.

When Gemma comes down, she's breathing hard and grinning like a cheshire cat who got the cream. Elliott stops briefly, tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and tilts his head in question.

"That was fucking _amazing_ ," she whispers. "Now come on baby boy - your turn."

She leans in to kiss him and he kisses her hard - his hand coming up to cup the side of her head as he does. Her sweaty strands of hair rest against his fingers as he thrusts his way to climax. It's not far away from hers - it just takes a little extra help from his wife. Gemma reaches between them and massages his balls - that sounds so lewd to his ears, and he knows he'll never be able to say it aloud - to help him reach orgasm. Not once does their kiss break as she does, and he comes buried to the hilt inside of his wife - without a condom, mind, but that'd be a problem for another day.

He groans into her mouth, and she swallows the sound with her mouth. _Her_ being loud was fine - it was expected of the biker slut, she could take the rude stares she got the day after. If any of his neighbors heard _him_ being loud? It could potentially ruin his election. The idea of Elliott Oswald being married to Gemma was bad enough. The idea of them _having sex_? The citizens of Charming couldn't bear to think about it. It was best they thought she was just getting herself off with toys or her fingers. God forbid she was having sex with her _husband_. Sometimes Gemma couldn't believe the facade of purity in her town.

Elliott breaks the kiss panting, and he slumps tiredly against her after pulling out. He leaves a trail of sticky in his wake, and Gemma is sure to kick up a fuss about it.

"I'm not on the pill, El," she whines, running her fingers gently through his hair. "What if-"

"We're a married couple with a steady source of income living in a three story house in the upper echelon of Charming," he murmurs tiredly. "If you get knocked up, I don't think it'd be _too much_ of a problem. In fact, it'd be the _least_ of our problems."

"Mm, and what would be our biggest?" she hums, kicking her feet lazily over the edge of the counter.

Elliott looks up at her tiredly with a lazy smirk. "How to explain to the citizens of Charming how our celibate marriage produced a kid."

Gemma burst out into a fit of giggles, and Elliott chuckles along with her. It's not until their laughter subsides that she inspects his skin. Already purpling marks line his neck and there are even some along the edge of his chin. His back is marked with scratches - deep ones, that have formed welts that she winces at - and his shoulders are still bleeding a bit. For the most part, he's been marked pretty good. His PR agent should definitely get the message.

"I think I did a good job," she whispers, tracing a bruise at the hollow of his throat. Elliott watches her expression - how she looks like a mesmerized child, as she traces each hickey with the very tip of her nail. "Think the bitch will know to back off now?"

"She'd be a psycho not to. What if I have to do a surprise press conference tomorrow?" he asks, finally pulling away from her. He bends down and picks up his jacket, shirt, tie and belt from the floor. He gathers her shirt and jeans too, and Gemma jumps from the counter to pull up her panties. She shrugs in response.

"Tell them it was your mistress," she whispers sultrily. "They'd just love that."

Gemma winks at him before sauntering away - her hips swaying with each step she takes, the curve of her ass perfect in those hot pink panties of hers. He watches her walk away for a few minutes before shaking his head.

 _This woman will be the death of me_ , he thinks in exhaustion before following the temptation of danger eagerly.

* * *

 **End Notes:** I'm happy with the fact that this is my first story published on FFN. It may be bad business to start with lemons, but I like that I have more freedom to be silly on here than I do on AO3. So here we are - Matronof _Lovely_ Anarchy streaming nothing but steamy Gemma smutty ficlets. Leave a review - love it, hate it?


	2. Clay I

**Beginning Notes:** Disclaimer -

I do not own any of the dialogue accentuated with bold. That dialogue belongs to Kurt Sutter and the Sons of Anarchy franchise.

This is just my take on what Kurt Sutter didn't show us at the end of S02E11 with Clay and Gemma's reconciliation. I know at that point, the Sons was still young and they couldn't show very many sex scenes in a season, but I really wish they would've put this in as Clay and Gemma's.

Now I know it's probably not what Kurt would've envisioned for the scene, but it feels right. I feel like if I didn't hit the nail on the head, I at least got close to home.

 **Summary:** "Let's go home..."

* * *

 **I Want My Wife**

 _ **"She needs to know you still love her.  
**_ _ **Gemma - thing causing her the most pain is thinking you don't want her anymore."**_

There was nothing that could turn his world upside down like those words. After Tig's little confession, Clay felt more in heart besides burning guilt and an even bigger, burning need to make up for it.

For the past few weeks, he'd been treating her like shit because he didn't understand why she was acting the way she was. He had begun to resent her for something he didn't know about, and it shined through. At first, he'd chalked it up to the menopause and he'd tried to give her the space she needed - he remembered his mother going through menopause, and he remembered the demon she became when it happened. But it became more and _more_ frustrating - especially since she began holding out on him in the sexual department, and Gemma _never_ denied a request for sex. She'd always been just as eager for it as he was - and sometimes, he just couldn't help it. It became too much for him to deal with.

At that point, he began to take out all his frustrations on her. He more than her car - he destroyed their marriage. Admittedly, that was more than a little unfair. Especially to Gemma, who apparently had already been going through so much without his knowing.

After finding out about what happened to her, he'd distanced himself - just like she originally distanced herself. Not because he didn't _want_ her - the strength, wit and sacrifice she'd shown by withholding that piece of information until she was sure it was the right time made him love her even more - but because he didn't know how to handle her. Clay knew Gemma - strong, sarcastic, quick-witted, and motherly. He didn't know 'Gemma' - weaker, quieter, emotional and distracted. He didn't want to hurt his wife anymore than he already had - he felt bad enough.

And in the process of trying not to cause more damage, he rubbed salt in her nonhealing wounds. He hurt her in ways he didn't know he could.

Knowing what he knows now, however - Gemma isn't going to feel unwanted for a moment longer than he can help it.

The walk towards T-M seems to stretch on for an eternity, but Clay eventually makes it to the office. He stops briefly just outside and gives himself a chance to get his breathing together. He can see her silhouette in the cast of light filtering out from the small little cubicle-like room, and for just a split second, a cloud of doubt falls over his mind. _What if Tig was wrong? What if she was the one who didn't want him after what happened?_

But none of that is actually plausible, so Clay gets the rest of himself together and slips towards the office. He leans casually in the doorway and watches her work for a few moments before finding his voice.

" **Let's go home,"** he says, although it's not much of a suggestion. Gemma turns briefly, and there's a flash of nervousness in her gorgeous hazel eyes before she turns back around and goes back to filtering through papers. Her brow furrows deeply and she feigns as if she's looking for something.

" **Oh, honey, I should catch up,"** she says hastily, hoping he would just take the excuse like usual and go. Clay quirks an eyebrow. " **We'll be buried."**

More than slightly fed up with her excuses to get out of spending time with him, and now more informed than he was previously, Clay decides he isn't going to back down this time. Lately, he'd been doing everything to please her by simply staying out of her way. He was sick of taking the easy way

out - now he was going to take back what was his.

" **Fine."**

Clay slams the door behind him - barely pausing to lock it - and heads over to the desk. It's piled high with papers, documents, and other miscellaneous shit - which doesn't make any sense, considering she'd spent the last few weeks of her free time filing and filling out lists of documents and forms. A mild effort of trying to get the office back in shape.

The junk falls to the floor unceremoniously, and Gemma's immediate instinct is to save all of her precious hard work. She steps towards the desk, frustration already marring her beautiful features.

" **What the hell's the matter with you?"** she asks, although there's surprisingly no malice to the question. She stares at him like he's lost his mind, but Clay knows deep in his chest that he just found it.

He grabs her by the arms and hoists her onto the now somewhat bare desk - as gently and yet firmly as possible. There's obvious shock and fear in her eyes, but this time there's something _new_. Something he hasn't seen in awhile. _Lust_.

Being so close to each other after _weeks_ of keeping an appropriate distance was starting to have it's effect. More often than not, when she snuck away to the living room to sleep, Gemma found her hand travelling into her panties - only to snatch it away when the memories and the pain of what happened became too much, or if she heard Clay coming down the stairs.

Of course, they'd shared hugs and brief kisses, but that had been in non-sexual settings - in front of their family, or on their way to the next new task that arose in their lives - as a way to keep up appearances. Let everyone know that their marriage is okay, that there's absolutely _nothing_ to worry about.

But now… now that there's no one watching, and they're all alone, and it's been such a long time since they've been together intimately…

" **I want my wife,"** Clay whispers, his lips barely centimeters away from hers.

 _Oh, Clay,_ Gemma can't help but think, relief flooding her. _It took you forever, but you caught on, baby._

Her breathing picks up a bit as she leans forward, pressing her own lips against his. Compared to his, hers are soft, delicate and very plump. The kiss is hungry and sloppy - as if they're two teenagers hornily making out for the first time, and not a grown married couple who knew each other's ins and outs like the back of their hands. There's biting and bruising that neither of them had done in a long time, and a passion that their marriage had been missing for a few weeks.

Clay slips his hands between their bodies to open her jacket, his eager hands popping some of the buttons off. Gemma gasps and shoves more clutter to the floor while Clay tugs off his cut - letting it slip unceremoniously to join the rest of the mess on the floor. His mouth attacks hers again, this time running his tongue gently along her bottom lip. She opens up to him in a way that she hasn't done in a long while and he groans into the contact.

Gemma pulls away from the kiss once more and lays flat on the desk - her hands falling from his back so that she could grip the sides. Clay slips between her legs so that he could cover her body with his own, and deftly begins to work at the button and zipper on her jeans.

"Fuck me, Clay," Gemma says, in the sexiest, sultriest, most erotic voice he has ever heard pass her lips.

The fabric of Clay's jeans tighten considerably, and he smirks at her when they do. There's not much talking after that - no more words need to be said. Thirteen years of marriage had taught the both of them a lot about each other - especially when it came to what the other needed in the bedroom.

There's nothing to be said - nothing that the other doesn't already know.

The past few weeks had been rocky, but they're both delighted to come back and find that nothing has changed.

Clay leans forward so his hands can catch the hem of her shirt and pull it over her head, releasing her ample breasts - held by a racy black lace bra. He admires the way the bra makes her tits look, so he leaves it for now - making a private vow to come back for it. While he continues undressing her, he sticks one finger in her mouth, not committing any gentlemanly act of tenderness while he does. He makes sure his wife gets his fingers nice and slick. He knows she'll already be wet for him - they haven't had sex in ages - but he wants to draw it out.

Gemma has other ideas though. She undoes the button her jeans and kicks out of them - leaving her in nothing but her bra and panties on the desk. Once undressed, she takes Clay's hand out of her mouth. She eyes his ring finger - eyes the gold band resting there, the symbol of their marriage resting proudly for the world to see - and guides it down, under, then up into her, slow slip-sliding past the hem of her panties to where she's already dripping wet. She presses Clay's finger into her until she feels the tip of his finger circle beneath her lips and then she pulls him out, trailing wetness with his finger, dragging it up to her clit. She lets go; he keeps going, just like she wants him to.

Two more fingers slip inside her, as Clay is desperate to draw a sound from her. Of course, he gets his wish - the sounds coming out of her mouth become damn near pornographic when the force and the speed picks up. He moves his mouth over hers, bringing her back in for an angry kiss. He rakes her tongue with his teeth, drawing away by pulling her bottom lip with him.

"I don't need foreplay," Gemma groans, after about ten minutes of rough finger fucking. " _C'mon_ , baby."

Clay pulls pulls out of her dripping cunt and brushes over his zipper with fingers still wet from her. The metal teeth shine in the office lamplight as they pull apart, tooth by tooth. Gemma bites back a shaky breath as he pulls himself out, lips dark as the head in his hand, wet and swollen.

She'd go down on her knees, give him something so he would stop smirking that smug 'oh honey' look every time her eyes widened at his size. In the weeks it'd been since they'd been together, she'd forgotten just how big he actually was.

Instead of going down on him though, Gemma flips around on the desk so that she's offering up her tart ass. Clay steps forward and pins her arms behind her back - clasping them together in one fist.

"You're a damn _minx_ , Gem. You know that baby?" She hums in reply and tells him to hurry the fuck up - to stop screwing around because she's so fucking wet and horny and oh god, how long has it _really been_ since she's had good sex?

Clay massages her bottom as he rubs his tip along her entrance, gives her a few teasing smacks that make the flesh there burn a bright red. When he's satisfied with the picture he's made of her backside, he pushes in. Gemma hisses and her nails scrape at the desk before she responds by pushing herself further down on his length.

He too gives his own groan of pleasure, because she's so damn _tight_ and it feels so _good_ to have her back. Growling her name, he presses harder against her and she twists around to get a glimpse of him. The expression on his face can only be described as bliss.

She spreads her legs a bit further, continues looking over her shoulder and doesn't say a word. Eyes say what needs saying, and that's just the dynamics of their relationship. It takes a second for Clay to set a good pace - sparing a glance at her whenever he picks up a little speed. The heel of his hand steadies the small of her back, pushing down for an arch.

Gemma pushes against Clay, needy for more while he fills her, spreading her wide. He knots his fist in her blonde streaked locks and tugs - hard enough to elicit a gasp of pleasure, but never hard enough to hurt her. His breath leaves a trail of heat on her neck that shoots right down her spine, meets the heat of his balls slapping lewdly against her thighs as he moves in quicker and harder thrusts. The friction and intensity of it all is fanning a spark through her body.

Clay takes his hand from the small of her back and uses it to dance a few fingers on the outside of her folds while he fucks her. His main focus is getting her off - bringing her pleasure from minor pains. She pushes herself on him in response, pushes her hand between her legs to guide his. Their fingers twine, tips rippling over her clit, as Gemma urges him to rub harder. He has no problem doing as told.

When she's there, when the world drops out of view and it's just her and him and a beautiful tranquility to define her orgasm - she shudders and clenches around him. He fucks her through it but he's coming with her - his head tossed back and his eyes wrenched shut as the moment swallows him whole.

Their names are on each other's lips like prayer. Probably because they were each other's savior.

Spent and thoroughly satisfied, Clay waits a few minutes before carefully sliding out - giving her a few final smacks to her backside as he does. He steps back to admire the vision of his wife bent over the desk - Gemma's legs spread wide, her pale skin glistening with sweat, her tight ass sporting angry red handprints, and her pretty little cunt posed nice for him. It's almost like looking at one of Luann's cover spreads for her movies.

Getting a naughty idea, Clay picks up his phone from where it had fell out of his jeans and clicks the camera app. He snaps a few shots of his wife before tucking his phone back into his pocket and collapsing in the chair by the desk.

"Taking pictures to remember me by?" Gemma asks tiredly, peering at him with shining hazel eyes.

"You know it, baby girl. You alright - you haven't moved an inch."

There's a pregnant pause of silence before Gemma gives a light, airy giggle and whispers, "I don't think I can."

A smug expression forms on her husband's face and she rolls her eyes. It takes a few moments, but eventually Gemma finds the energy to pull herself away from the - now sticky - desk and begin redressing. Clay watches her get dressed with that same amused, smug, satisfied look on his face - as if Christmas had come early, even though he knew he deserved charcoal. Gemma can't help but feel a surge to her own ego when his face falls after she buttons her blazer back up - he really did still think she was sexy.

Once she's dressed, Clay opens his arms and she willingly falls into his lap. She tosses her legs over one armrest of the chair and presses her back against the other so that he could still see her when he spoke. It's a bit cramped and awkward and Gemma's subconscious is nagging her about the sticky wet feeling she has in her panties, but she can feel her husbands still hard erection pressing against her backside and there's lust in his eyes for the first time in a long time so it's _good_.

"I'm not going to be able to look at this desk with a straight face tomorrow," Gemma complains, dragging her nails gently across the stubble on his jaw. Clay gathers her hair into a free hand, twisting it into his palm and raising it against the back of her head. It was one of his post-coital habits of his - tangling up her hair even more than it was already tangled.

"You're not going to be able to look at this desk at all tomorrow," Clay scoffs. "Tonight… tomorrow… baby, it's all you. God, you're gonna be fucked so thoroughly by the time Friday rolls around that

you're going to be slurring your words."

"You gonna make a promise on that, cowboy?" she asks, her voice light. Clay turns his head to kiss the inside of her palm and rest his cheek against it.

"Bet your sweet ass I am," he whispers, before lifting her bridal style and heading towards the door.

 _(It's not until Thursday night, when she's curled against his side and trying to catch her breath that she comes to a warm, yet very shocking realization._

 _She was able to_ _ **have sex**_ _with her_ _ **husband**_ _\- and even_ _ **sleep**_ _at night, curled into his side with his strong muscled arms wrapped around her - without thinking about any of her assailants. So maybe Clay's_ _ **service**_ _was to save her from herself that night -_ _ **and every night before and after**_ _.)_

* * *

 **End Notes:** Bold at the beginning means dialogue that belongs to Kurt. Bold at the ending means words in dialogue that would've been italicized had they not already been italicized.


	3. Clay II

**Beginning Notes:** I can hear you guys groaning at the idea of _more_ Clay. Fight me. And to the lovely reviewer that commented on what they might like to see - I'm working on an Alvarez AND a Half-Sack one. They're just not complete.

 **Summary:** Gemma deserves so much better than what JT has been giving her. Clay makes sure that she knows it.

* * *

 **Worship**

"Shh," Clay whispers into her ear, rubbing his hands up and down her sides. His right hand briefly plays with the edge of her bra before dancing away again, rubbing circular motions over the bleeding rose tattoo right above her hip. Gemma moans, buries her fingers in the small curls at the back of his head and brings him down for another crushing kiss. It's more teeth than it is tongue, and she gasps when he bites down hard on her bottom lip.

"Can't stay quiet, the way you're treating me," she pants in reply, her fingers deftly making quick work of his belt. Clay tuts lightly and grabs her wrists with one large hand, slamming them against the wall above her head. He gets a small gasp in reply, and smirks to himself - she called him transparent, and maybe he was, but when they were fucking he could read her like a goddamned children's book.

A few papers and boxes fall from the storage room closet, falling over them messily and landing at their bare feet. Outside, the Clubhouse is alive with noise. Everyone was in full swing - last he'd seen, girls were dancing on the bar and tables, their hips swaying, their eyes heavy with make-up and half-lidded. He'd purposely tried to make Gemma jealous by delivering a flat-handed smack to one pretty thing's ass, and that had been it. She'd grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to the back room, muttering something trivial about books to look at.

Everyone knew better, but yet they'd still found themselves locked in the closet because it makes them feel better to be careful. Especially since Jax was in a bit of a pissy mood over their relationship and she would do anything to spare her son anger and confusion.

"Slow down, baby. I'll take real good care of you, just let me," he instructs, placing his mouth over her neck. Her back arches and pushes her breasts against his chest, and Clay chuckles. God, he knows she wants it. She needs it. But he loved making her wait - loved it when she finally broke down and begged him to give her that little push.

His left hand keeps hers above her head and his right works the button on those tight as fuck black jeans she'd been wearing. He pulls the zipper down slowly and she squirms, way too eager to get her rocks off. God, she was so damn sexy.

Clay slowly releases her hands, but there's a fire in his eyes.

"Keep them up there," he mutters, pressing his lips against the tattoo on her breast. She whimpers slightly, but says nothing. Gemma's never been particularly vocal in bed - once she got to a point, it was more or less up to him to figure out what she needed. "If you move your hands, Gemma, I swear I will stop."

She nods distractedly, keeping her wrists planted firmly against the wall. Clay smiles up at her.

"Good girl," he whispers. Once again, his hands trail down her body - caressing her face, gently running between her breasts and over them. Over the flat space between her hip bones, down to the dark fabric of her jeans. With each trail of creamy pale flesh revealed, he slides further down her body - eventually crouching below her. "Lift your hips for me, baby."

Gemma does as told, lifting her hips off the wall. Smirking, Clay peers up at her as he slides the fabric over her hips, down her thighs, stopping only at her knees. Her head is tossed back, her eyes fluttered closed and the soft bruised flesh of her bottom lip is pulled between her teeth.

"Look at me," Clay demands sharply. "Let me see you, babe."

Once more, Gemma follows her orders. Her eyes flutter open and she tilts her head down, staring at him with lust-filled hazel eyes that make him want to fuck her senseless. But he knows better - he knows it will be worth so much more if he treats her right and he knows that she _deserves_ for him to treat her right. She wasn't a two-dollar whore - she was queen and his mama taught him how to treat his queen like a woman,

"That's good," he praises. Clay pulls at her jeans until they're mostly pooled at the floor and she kicks her feet out of them, shoving them aside with her blouse. She's bare before him now - wearing nothing but a pair of gorgeous lace black panties with a dangerous red frill. His eyes flit back up, to the matching lace black bra with the small red bow carefully placed between both her breasts. Most of Gemma's under garments were lingerie, but this was shit he'd never even seen before. It must've been new. It must've… "Fuck… this for me?"

Gemma nods slowly, trying to come with the words. She hated what this man managed to do to her - how he managed to make her speechless. She was the most outspoken person any of the boys knew at yet a simple graze of his fingers left a lump in her throat.

"Bought it today. Thought you might like it - you usually love me in red," she admits. Clay presses a kiss on her hipbone.

"You're so fucking beautiful, you know that? You're just…" he trails off. "God, you're not going to be able to walk to the car after I'm through with you."

She laughs at that, tossing her head back against the wall. Clay gives her a final approving once over before going back to his work - kissing up her leg from her ankle to her thigh. He pauses there, separating her legs slightly so that his mouth could get closer to _her_. Lightly, Clay trails his tongue up and over the skin there. Then, when his mouth reaches the hem of her panties, he gently tugs with his teeth until they're sliding over her hips.

Gemma must've been expecting for him to fuck her that night - first the brand new lingerie and now she's perfectly shaven. Clay barely exhales sharply, his warmth breath tickling her in a way that makes her bite the inside of her bottom lip instead of the outside.

"Clay-" she doesn't get to finish her rebuke because soon his tongue is delving inside of her. It's gentle and slow, so very fucking teasing. But it's just right - just enough to make her cry out loudly. Instinctively, her fingers attempt to bury themselves in his hair, but he draws away from her with a stern glare.

"I told you I would stop," he snaps. Gemma nods feverently, placing her hands above her head again. With a satisfied smile, he returns to her perfectly shaven mound - licking the length of her before flicking his tongue under the hood of her clit. Her legs tremble and the position is a bit awkward, so he takes her left leg and hoists it over his shoulder. This allows him to get deeper into her sweetness, and she tastes so fucking good. He wonders how long it's been since he's properly ate her out and is ashamed when he realizes it's been too long.

His lapping is slow and tenuous at first for all his cockiness. He tastes her wetness and tests it, dipping into her one moment then flicking against her clit the next and pausing to pull her labia between his teeth. Gemma writhes under each of her little experiments, her body opening up to him when her mouth refused to.

Clay always had a magic mouth, full of tricks and sleight of tongue and teeth that seemed all to able to saw her in half with one misstep. He was a god - and yeah, he didn't go down on her as much as she did him, but that seemed to make everything better. It made it less of a sexual act and more of a treat. _You've been_ real _good, baby,_ his actions whispers every time he takes her into his mouth. _Let me_ show _you how good._

 _Shit_ , he barely started and she already felt as if she were falling apart at the seams, as if the very fabric of her being was at the mercy of this man's tongue.

Clay's lips enclose her clit and he sucks it gently. Gemma bucks her hips forward, as if that would somehow change how slowly he was planning on worshipping her. His left hand grips her hip and brings her even closer - so much so that his nose tickles her clit. His other hand makes itself useful by slipping two fingers inside of her, slowly pushing in centimeter by centimeter.

"God… fuck! Clay, _please_!" Gemma relents eventually, tired of holding out. She'd been trying to contain herself - see if she could come without having to beg him. But she needs him - needs him to slide inside of her and breath hard in the crook of her neck and shoulder. Needs him to cup her ass and fuck her senseless - until her speech is slurred and her eyes are rolling back into her head. God, she fucking needs him and he's making her wait.

"Please what, baby girl? Tell me what you want," he demands sweetly, pulling away from her. Under the dim closet light, his mouth glistens with her slick and she so _desperately_ wants to touch. She wants to drag him up by his chin and force him to do her proper - quit being such a goddamned tease and make her see stars.

"Please, Clay, fuck me," she whispers. He smirks triumphantly, let's her leg fall from his shoulder. He stands slowly until he's towering over her, a predatory glint in his eyes. She loved it when he was like this - dominant, controlling. When they were in the bedroom usually, it was more her taking the reins or a battle to be on top. Gemma doesn't think she'll ever tell him how much she loves being controlled, being topped by a man who knows what he wants and how to get it.

He unbuckles his pants quickly, shoving them down with his boxers. All the while staring at her, daring her to look away and make him walk out the storage door. But even when she's submissive, Gemma is about as stubborn as a mule and she stares him down hard. When his cock springs free from the constraint of fabric - slapping against his belly before standing at attention between his legs - she finally looks away. Her eyes travel down, and there's unmasked desire in her eyes. She wanted it so bad.

Clay doesn't bother coming up with some sly dirty talk - he takes her wrists and locks both of her arms around his neck. Using both hands, he lifts her thighs until her legs are wound around his waist and the tip of his cock is pressing teasingly against her folds. She bucks her hips forward, sliding his tip slightly inside of her and Clay does everything in his power not to fuck her.

It may be what she wanted - but it just wasn't what she deserved.

"Keep your legs around my waist, baby," he murmurs into her ear. Gemma nods and he plants one hand on the side of her hand - using the other to steady his length and slowly push into her. She gasps and curses, finally abusing her allowance to touch by bringing him forward for another heated kiss. She can taste herself on him - sweet and so fucking dirty. His tongue runs over her bottom lip and then pokes around her mouth - testing out places he's already been before.

Clay grinds slow and deep - using his hand to support him as he rolls his hips back and forth. With each thrust inward, he adds another inch to how much he puts inside of her. Gemma lives for it - her mouth pulling away from his and her head rolling forward to rest on his shoulder and her blonde and black tresses tickling his pecs.

She's tight and warm and wet around him - months of sleeping together and he still hadn't managed to stretch her out yet. He has to admit - the idea of treating her like she deserves to be treated slips his mind briefly, the primal need inside of him to treat her like a whore roaring loudly. But he has her body alive for him - speaking volumes of how much wants… how much she needs this. There were years ahead to fuck like animals - she deserved to be made to feel good.

Especially with John off in Belfast, balls deep in some blonde idiot. Gemma wouldn't admit it, but she desperately wanted to feel gorgeous again and Clay was going to come through for her. He would always come through for her.

He eventually reaches the point where he's balls deep inside of her and she's whimpering. Her teeth nip at the sweaty flesh of his shoulder and he holds her there - not moving an inch, letting her feel everything happening inside of her at the moment. Gemma's nails dig into his scalp and it hurts a bit, but god if it isn't sexy the way she's so open for him.

"You're lighting up for me baby," Clay hums appreciatively. "Tell me, Gem. What do you need?"

"You, Clay," she admits, her voice small and slightly weak. She's trembling all over - they're not even truly fucking yet and she's already on the edge - just barely escaping the rising action, but not quite tilting over into the climax. "God, I need _you_ baby. I _love_ you."

"I love you, too," he whispers back, and he means every word. She was everything he'd ever wanted for a soulmate and he loved her endlessly - there were things he was willing to do for this woman that would change the definition of loyalty. "So fucking much. So _fucking_ much."

He moves his hips again, pulling most of the way out slowly before sliding back in. Gemma growls in response, busying her mouth with scraping and suckling hickeys onto his shoulder so that she doesn't cry out. Last thing they needed was for Jax to find their little hiding place due to her screaming.

His hips roll a bit with each thrust, and he delivers everything just the way she wants, but the speed remains the same. He wanted her to enjoy this. If she was lit up for him right now, he wanted to carve fireworks into her skin. He wasn't allowed to make her scream, but he wanted to get damn close.

Her mouth pulls away from his skin and it hurts where the warmth used to be - Clay doesn't even want to imagine the shit she'd inflicted on him. Gemma's head tilts back against the wall again, her eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth has fallen open, and there are noises coming from her throat that are damn near pornographic. If he had a free hand, he would clamp it over her mouth but he doesn't. Luckily, Gemma knows better - she winces as she removes one of her hands from around his neck and bites into the flesh on the back of it.

She doesn't need to tell him - he feels it in the way she clenches around his length and growls into her hand. He fucks her through it, moving slower than before - if that was even possible. Gemma shakes around him, her legs turning into gelatin. There are no stars or fireworks flashing behind her eyelids. Nothing but sweet, pure darkness. Oblivion as she rides through the orgasm, desperately trying to take all of him in. He's too far way, even though he's right there - mouthing her exposed neck and murmuring sweet 'I love you's' into the hollow of her throat.

She comes down from the high with his name on her lips, a desperate prayer. Clay holds her as he slides out - his still hard length resting against her thigh.

"You're not gonna…" she mutters, fumbling for his cock. Rolling his eyes, Clay takes her hand and presses his lips against the back of it.

"I can handle a little blue balls until we get out of here. I'm not fucking you in a storage closet again - you deserve better than that, gorgeous," he says sternly. He seems so _sure_ of himself - so confident that he's right, that she _does_ deserve better than senseless fucking on whatever flat surface. And there's so much unadulterated emotion in those pools of ocean, she doesn't even have the urge to sarcastically ask ' _Do I?'._

"I meant it, Clay Morrow," she says instead. Gemma locks her legs tighter around his waist and pulls him closer to her - so that her breasts push up against his chest and his lips fall a few centimeters from her mouth. "I love you."

"I know you do, baby."


	4. Juice

**Beginning Notes:** I fell in love with the idea of Juice/Gemma after reading Sweet Thing by hobbitdragon & Thaxted (you can find the story and the writers on AO3 if you haven't yet, and I highly suggest it because it's practically literary perfection). I don't know why, but I can see it - especially Season 7/Season 6 era. Now, I don't know all about the 'mommy kink' (their canon for anything Juice/Gemma), but I do see them together. So… here we are.

 **Summary:** He's just a lowly fuck-up from Queens. She's a fallen Matriarch with marital issues. He's not much, but he's something.

* * *

 **Got It Bad**

Everyone in the Clubhouse had heard the argument. Hell, it was quite possible that everyone in _southern California_ had heard the fight - maybe more. It was no surprise that when the King and Queen of Anarchy fought, they were knock down, drag out fights - couldn't be any less, the King had a reputation to uphold. He couldn't let his old lady top him, and she couldn't let him think she had a place to be put in. Hair pulling, slapping, in-your-face screaming - that was just the start. Things often escalated to the point where one or both had to pulled away from the other, because the amount of physical damage being inflicted could've been _deadly_. Gemma always gave as good as she got, and Clay always made sure she got _good_.

Most had evacuated as soon as voices rose above indoor voice level - choosing to slink over to Teller-Morrow and put in some overtime - but a few had stuck around to watch. Or clean up the aftermath, either one. Juice had been one of the ones to stick around and clean up the aftermath - having nothing to do at Teller-Morrow, and not wanting to return to his shitty little apartment just because of a fight. He nurses a whiskey and keeps his head low, his ears keened. The things that Clay are saying, Juice knows will hurt the recently fragile Matriarch. Calling her cheap pussy was _low_ , especially since she considered herself the highest of the high.

Gemma said things too, don't get him wrong. But Juice has a natural bias for her - and sometimes it shone through a little more than it should.

Suddenly it goes startlingly quiet, and Gemma exits the back dorm room - where they'd be fighting. Blood dribbles from the corner of her mouth, and her mascara is smeared considerably. Juice is barely noticing the bright red marks around her throat and on her cheek when she storms past him - a slight limp in her gait - out the doors of the Clubhouse. Juice's eyes widen, and he turns to glance at the hallway leading to the apartments. He's surprised when Clay exits - sporting a bruised eye and swollen cheek. The nervous member looks away instantly, but the President has already noticed his staring and is intending to prey on it.

"Juice," he bellows, drawing the younger members attention again. Nervously, the latino peers up at him. Clay is fuming, and he can tell that pissing him off right now would be a bad idea. "What the fuck are you still doing here? Go after her, you fucking moron!"

Confused, but not wanting to argue with the man, he scrambles up from his seat and does as told. It's surprisingly easy to find Gemma. Since most of everyone evacuated to Teller-Morrow - and even _that_ place is deserted, almost everyone has abandoned the fort for the first time in _ages_ \- she chose to occupy the swings. She sways lightly on one of them, her feet moving her back and forth on the cobblestone. Her hands shake as she lights a joint and brings it to her lips, and he notices that she has yet to wipe the blood away from her mouth.

Taking several deep breaths, Juice heads over to join her - plopping down onto the swing set and swinging for a bit before stopping and glancing at her. He knows that the last thing she probably wants is to talk to him, and he gives her a few minutes to tell him to fuck off. But she just keeps staring at her heels, her bottom lip wobbling dangerously. He finds that the blood is coming from a split lip that she'd been trying to nurse with her tongue, and the cut bleeds profusely - trailing out the side of her mouth. Juice winces at the sight and pulls his handkerchief from his pocket. It's stained with grease and motor oil, but he uses it anyway - awkwardly leaning over and wiping away the stain of blood dripping from her lip to her chin.

"Don't cry, Gemma," he soothes, but that only gets another sniffle. Another grimace - he _hated_ seeing her like this. Juice sighs and continues to dab at the busted lip. "I honestly don't know how to cheer you up. What do biker wives like?"

He doesn't realize he's wondering aloud until Gemma gives a snort of laughter and swipes at a tear that had been threatening to spill over the brim of her eye.

"Leather, lace and assholes who don't appreciate us," she whispers bitterly. "You fucking men, I swear. I just-"

"I appreciate you," Juice says weakly, cutting her off. She glances to him, but he's nervously fiddling with the handkerchief in his hand. He looks away when he leans in to clean the corner of her lip again. "I know I'm not someone like your husband or your son, but… I appreciate you a lot. My favorite part of the day is when you come into the office, and you give me a hug and kiss. You're always really hot - and I admire that you take such good care of yourself."

"But not just that either," he continues, knowing that he shouldn't just like a lady for her looks. He was raised and taught better than that. "I appreciate you doing the paperwork for us because I don't know what I'd do if I had to sit behind a desk and work that shit all day. Probably die of frustration. And I appreciate you lookin' out for us 'cause I didn't really have much of a ma growin' up - she was always workin'. So having you around is really nice. And I appreciate you tendin' to us after fights or scuffles or just plain trouble. I _appreciate_ you, Gemma."

Juice realizes that he's not much. He's an awkward little fuck-up from Queens with an out of this world hacking ability and shitty haircut. But he so desperately wants her to like and approve of him, so he doesn't care about any of that other stuff. He twists the handkerchief over his index finger and peers up at her shyly, noticing that she's staring at him - slack jawed.

Gemma beams at him, and he smiles sheepishly back. He expects a lot of things to happen next. He expects her to have a renewed confidence, and go to fix things with her husband. He expects her to hug him and kiss his cheek in a thank you. He expects her to maybe be a little upset that he'd been watching her so closely.

He does not expect for to cup his face and pull him in for a kiss. And not one of her little motherly pecks at the corner of his mouth that just almost push the brink of maternal sexuality - a tongue kiss that pulls him right down into the abyss of just _sexuality_. It sends blood rushing straight south because he chubs up a little when she runs her tongue along his and nips his bottom lip, her actions begging for him to react - to do _something_ instead of just sit there like a fool. He eventually does - suckling on her tongue gently and running his along her bottom lip, effectively wiping some of her lipstick from it. The sharp tang of the blood from her cut somehow doesn't make this worse… it makes it better, and he hates himself for it.

Gemma doesn't pull away and neither does he. In fact he gets a little bold with it - tossing the handkerchief aside and resting his hands on her jean clad thighs. The swings make it difficult for him to get real lewd with her, but he does his best - massaging her thighs through her jeans, sending a hand up to tug at the hem of a bra before it comes skittering back down to her lap. His aren't the only ones getting busy - she massages his crotch through his work pants, her nail occasionally running up his shaft.

It's not until Juice remembers Clay that he breaks away and sends a fearful glance to the Clubhouse. Gemma was every one of his wet dreams smashed into one unbelievably sexy woman, but he couldn't bear facing the President if he fucked his wife.

"Why'd you stop?" the woman herself huffs, her hand still on her lap. "That was hot."

"I-" Juice spares a glance to the woman. The running mascara, smeared lipstick, and busted lip gets his dick tugging - begging to be let free and rampant. There was something about a sad woman that made his white knight complex ache, and not to mention that this particular woman was as hot as a June summer's day. Albeit, _everything_ about Gemma made everything about Juice ache and a part of him hates that weakness. "What if we get caught?"

"Wouldn't be the first time," she snorts, rolling her eyes. He shivers to think that he wouldn't be her first affair - and the shivers get worst at the thought that maybe, just _maybe_ , he could be her last. "Look, his dick goes on a cheerleader hunt from here to New York. You don't think I deserve a little side piece too?"

It crushes the little Puerto Rican to think he would just be that - a side piece - and shatters his dreams of becoming a regular occasion. He would be a quick fuck - one time thing to boost her confidence, maybe her own little piece of revenge against Clay. Nothing more. But he takes one look at her rack and decides that it would be worth it - better something than nothing, right?

"C'mon Juice," she purrs, her hands splaying out flat against his thighs. "We can do it - right here, on the playground. No one will ever have to know. Just… just fuck it out of me. I don't wanna think about him. I know you could do better than him any day, baby. You would do better right, Juicey?"

"Anything for you, Gemma," he gasps out, before he can think about anything else. Clay and the MC is shoved to the back of his mind, because he knows he'd put her happiness before the Motorcycle Club on any day of the week, month or year. His brothers could be bleeding out from multiple fatal wounds, but if she chipped a nail, he knows he'd be right there for her. He knows this and yet still… _still_ , there's gnawing guilt in the back of his consciousness that he can't shake. This was a married woman. This was a woman married to the President of his Club - one of his most precious things. This was his sponsor's _wife_.

Despite that, he still bows in and gives the older woman what she wants - pressing his lips against hers with only minor hesitation. Juice attempts to be as slow and perfect as possible at first - Gemma was so much more important than the sweetbutts and croweaters that warmed the indent of his bed every night, he had to make this good for her - but then she gives a frustrated huff and bites down on his bottom lip… _hard_. At first he whines at the surge of pain, but Gemma's hand massaging him through his jeans makes the throbbing in his lip seem insignificant.

It takes a long while for Juice's big head to catch up with his little one, but when it does, he breaks away from the kiss and pulls her to her feet - tugging her towards the spot behind the slides. One reason being because they couldn't exactly fuck on the swings without causing some sort of injury. Another being that if Clay did come in search of them, he'd come up empty. It was get dark enough that his dark boots and her latex heels wouldn't be spotted in the moonlight anyways.

He lays her tenderly on the cooling red concrete and carefully goes about giving her what she likes. Kissing first her lips gently - his lips pulling away from her stickily, her red lipstick glued to his - and then running his mouth along her jaw. Down her chin to the hollow of her throat, where he begins to nip at the skin. Gemma writhes beneath him, her knee running up and down his inner thigh.

He stops right above her breasts - delicately pulling her shirt over her head before continuing. He hardens considerably at the sight at her breasts resting high and full on her chest, sitting encased in an ebony lace bra - his semi-erection hitting full mass and straining against his boxers. Juice inhales sharply, and forces himself to calm down a little. This wasn't about him, it was about-

"You gonna sit there starin' at my tits all day, baby?"

"I wouldn't mind," he exhales before he can think.

"Well, I would. Get down here and treat me good - I'm all wet for you, and that just can't go to waste," she huffs. Juice shudders again and presses his lips against hers while simultaneously lifting her hips. He wiggles her jeans down to her ankles - it's certainly a job, they're like a goddamned second skin - and glances down to the spot between her legs.

She wasn't lying when she said she was wet. She soaking through her panties - when he presses his two fingers there, he draws away dripping. He expects her to be shy or embarrassed, but she's staring up at him with lust-filled eyes. So instead of blushing like a virgin schoolboy, he pops his fingers in her mouth. Gemma is certainly an expert - she swirls her tongue around his fingers as he slides her panties down with his free hand. The wet hotness of her mouth leaves him aching for release and dripping precum against his boxers, and she can see the imprint through his pants.

"Oh baby, look at you," she whispers when he removes his fingers from her mouth, reaching up to massage his cock through the material. It's already standing at half-mast and rapidly getting harder. "You wanna fuck my cunt, don't you?"

Juice replies by slamming his mouth onto hers again - tasting the sweet, slightly sour tanginess of her pussy. It's all so erotic - her dirty talk, the strain of arousal in his pants, the fact that they were practically _fucking in public_. It's all a bit much, not to mention that each word, gasp or moan that falls from her lips sends blood rushing straight towards his dick. The last thing he needed was to come in his pants.

He tugs her panties over her hips unceremoniously and is about to slip a finger inside when her hands push his pants and boxers over his hips. His dick springs free like an eager puppy, the tip grazing his stomach before resting between his legs. Gemma's hand is quick in wrapping around his cock and stroking him as gently as possible whilst simultaneously guiding him towards her folds.

"W-what… don't you want…?" Juice fumbles for words, but it's hard - _ha!_ \- for him to concentrate with her perfectly manicured hands wrapped around his cock. Gemma rolls her eyes in annoyance.

"Baby, we don't have time for you to treat me like your bike," she explains, as if it's almost painstakingly apparent. Her hazel eyes briefly float towards the Clubhouse, where only three motorcycles remain - pointedly Juice's, Half-Sack's and Clay's. His stomach does somersaults at the insinuation - they didn't actually have very long before Clay came in search of them. He hates how a part of that danger is kind of hot, the idea of getting caught giving his a member a few promising twitches.

Juice gives her a shy apologetic smile before following her lead, sliding into her as gently and smoothly as possible - despite the fact that she's so wet it's barely an effort - while maintaining a small sense of urgency. Gemma sighs in contentment as he begins to fill her up, and the young man gives his own releasing groan. She wasn't _particularly_ tight - he supposed that two children would do that to a woman - but there was something satisfying about having her closing around his length.

Gemma's nails dig into his biceps as he grinds his hips forward and pushes into her - attempting to get as deep as he can possibly get. That seems to do something, because the grip on his arms becomes almost painfully tight.

"Ah, fuck!" Gemma pants, her mouth falling open. "Right there, baby, right there for me."

"Yeah?" Juice asks, his voice thick. He has to admit - the praise feels overwhelmingly good, it's a definite ego stroke that he'd been needing lately. Not to mention the plus that it comes from someone like Gemma - someone who was usually on top and very rarely submitted to anyone else. He decides that showing off isn't so bad.

" _Yeah_ , baby."

He smirks proudly at her before drawing out slowly and thrusting forward again - this time with a little bit more force than the last. Gemma pushes her on hips upward to meet his thrusts, and he takes advantage of the action to cup her ass and pull her just that bit closer. Each time his hips roll backwards and push forward, it seems to bring him that much closer to the edge. The younger Son can only pray that he doesn't come before she does, as he doesn't think he could take that embarrassment.

"Gemma, god-" he groans, burying his nose into her sweaty hair. "God _damnit_."

The sex seems to be having a similar effect on the woman beneath him. Her eyes are rolled back in her head, and her teeth are worrying her bottom lip. Sensing a perfect moment, he dips his head down to press his lips against the corner of her mouth. Gemma turns her head eagerly to capture his lips with hers, and her teeth decide to pull at his bottom lip instead. Juice groans in pleasure at the pain, and thrusts up into her harder.

She moans into the kiss, and with each forceful thrust it gets harder and harder to control their volume. Juice know she's close to coming too, because the grip she has on his arms is almost deathlike, and her gasps are becoming close to hyperventilation.

Gemma breaks with kiss with a cry of, " _Fuck-_ " and a loud yell. Juice quickly clamps his hand over her mouth to keep their tryst safe and hopes to high hell that Clay is getting too drunk to notice her shouting. He follows in his peak soon after, thrusting up into her and pumping her full of his seed. It leaks stickily out of her folds and dribbles down his shaft, and he winces at the mess - he hated going back to his apartment sticky.

"Ugh, asshole," she whines, when she comes down from her climax - although there's nothing but dreaminess to her tone. It's obvious that he did somewhat of a good job, and he preens a little at the thought.

After simply enjoying the sight of her thoroughly fucked and starry-eyed, Juice pulls out and rolls over onto the concrete beside her.

"Least of our worries," he mutters, fumbling his boxers back up. Now that the high of fucking her is gone, the guilt is slowly starting to darken the edges of his consciousness. He'd just committed adultery. He'd just fucked his Sponsor's wife - his President's Old Lady. That had to be one - if not _the_ \- biggest sin of being a member of SAMCRO.

He was going to so many different levels of hell.

Gemma peers up at him before grabbing him by his cheeks and planting a kiss on his jawline.

"Quit worrying sweetie. He already knows."

" _What?!_ "

* * *

 **End Notes:** *spends damn near a month writing this* *it still sucks* FML. C &C please because god knows I need it.


	5. Tig

**Warning:** If you don't like 'rough sex' or the Daddy kink, this might not be the chapter for you.

 **Beginning Notes:** Sorry I've been so inactive, I've been suffering from writer's block really bad. I hope you enjoy this as a coming - ha! punny! - gift.

 **Summary:** Gemma sometimes forgets her place, but Tig is always there to remind her.

* * *

 **Daddy**

"Oh shut up, Tiggy. You couldn't get in between Lyla's legs if you tried hard enough, and she'd fuck Humpty Dumpty if he asked nice enough," Gemma laughs over her glass, fed up with listening to Tig brag about the 'hot chick' he nailed the previous night. He did that shit on purpose - to make her jealous, to rile her up. In response to the insult, the younger blonde woman throws a bar pretzel at her surrogate mother and the Clubhouse erupts into a cacophony laughter.

"You're one to talk about being a whore, Gem. I don't think there's a man in this room that hasn't seen your cunt," Tig fires back.

It always started like this, especially on the nights where there were no children to look after and no Club business to tend to. The drinks were flowing steadily, the weed was in ample supply, and everyone was generally having a great time. Attempting to forget the events that had happened several months earlier with Clay, trying to meld back together as a family. It was always Gemma and Tig in this situation too - beginning as a petty argument, some mild teasing. Playful banter between friends.

But then things get heated. Loud. Angry. His finger in her face and hate spitting from her mouth, 'fuck you's' and 'stupid whore's' echoing in each other's ears.

And of course, she'd - or he'd - run off. And he'd follow. And fuck her back into her place, because he knew she couldn't stay away from if she tried.

"Yeah, there is," she sighs, sensing the onslaught of this type of argument and setting her glass down with force. Everyone looks to her expectedly, eagerly awaiting the insult that would surely fall from her lips - Gemma always had the best insults. "You."

"Oh yeah?" he asks, approaching her menacingly. "I wonder why that is? Maybe because I would never dare fuck someone like you."

 _Okay, that stung._

"Or maybe it's because I'm strictly dickly and you act like a little bitch all the time."

"What the fuck did you just say?"

" _You heard me_."

Tig looks like he wants to say something else, but instead he turns on his heels and storms out - the Clubhouse doors slamming loudly behind him. Gemma stares after him for several long moments before pushing off of the stool and marching down the hallway.

She finds his apartment blindly and leans up against the wall beside the door, sighing as she fumbles with her jeans. She contemplates it a little before sliding one hand inside to rub over her slit. There were rules against touching, but fuck him. He didn't own her. She did what she wanted.

As two fingers slide over her hardening clit, she sighs in pleasure. Tries to think of anything - anyone - but him, but she can't help it. She could _never_ resist him.

She imagines he's still out the back of the Clubhouse, lighting up a cigarette and calming himself down. He'd try to play it cool when he came back in, pretend like he didn't care that she was in there. Pretend to be uninterested when she's not around, pretend he doesn't know exactly where she is. Make it clear - real loud, so that she'd hear it through the haze of her menstruations - that he's gonna take a piss. And then he'd come. He'd pin her right where she was and he'd remove her fingers - lick 'em clean, if he was in the forgiving type of mood. Force her to lick them, if he wasn't. Then he'd slip his fingers between her folds and decide if she should be allowed to come - even if he always lets her anyways. The thought of those fingers moving through her folds, touching her inside was delicious. She's already dripping wet, and a part of her hate that he has that effect on her.

Gemma closes her eyes and imagines his rough, gravelly voice and calloused hands moving over her smooth skin - inching towards her spread thighs. Not like she hadn't imagined it a half a dozen times this week alone… masturbated to the sound of his voice through the phone - the rare times that he'd call to let her get off while he was out of town. She can do it again - her imagination was one hell of a gift.

"I'm gonna take a piss!" she can hear him call, through the haze of her impending orgasm. Just in time too - she's already almost there, holding herself just on the brink.

The door to the bedroom opens and he slides in on a wave of sound, music and voices from the Clubhouse. She can faintly catch Happy's voice, hollering a catcall at a sweetbutt.

Gemma doesn't look at him, not yet. She knows he's there, knows he's watching her, but she doesn't give him the satisfaction of meeting his eyes yet. Instead she lifts her hips and grinds into her own hand, pushing herself closer to the edge. God, she's so fucking close…

"Look at me, pet," his harsh voice gravels out, just as she's about to come. She finally looks up - god, she hates how she's so obedient when it comes to him - and he's leaning on the door, watching her through lust crazed eyes. Not once does she stop her hand from moving, just stares at him through her eyelashes - the haze of potential sex slurring her mind a little.

"Stay," Tig demands, before striding towards the bathroom. He actually does take a piss, and only then does she pause. Her face falls a bit when he zips back up. He wasn't actually going to leave her hanging was he? That was so out of character, she didn't actually fathom that it was possible.

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming," Gemma says once he's returned - although it's a lie. A part of her knows he'll come - he always comes, he never lets her down. Nothing would change, not now, not ever.

"I'll come. One way or another," Tig's voice is dark and deep and it tingles against her flesh as he confirms her thoughts. He pushes her back further against the wall - if that was possible - and corners her there, glaring down at her with threatening, azure colored eyes. He smells of smoke and beer and whiskey and sweat. He smells so good, so musky and masculine. "Whores first."

Gemma shudders with excitement at that - so degrading yet unbelievably sexy. Slowly, she pulls her hand out of her pants - wincing at the lack of friction, but knowing deep down it'll be worth it - and holds up her fingers, glistening with wet. Tig stares for a long moment, then violently lurches toward her, sucking her fingers into his mouth while his hands pushes at her pants and his whole body rides her into the wall.

He's already hard, she can feel the heat radiating out from his groin as he presses it against her. For several perfect moments, the feeling of his tongue swirling around her fingers is just enough to be orgasmic. She's been holding herself on edge for so long that when he suckles on her middle finger particularly, it's the _perfect_ amount of eroticism. She comes with a loud 'oh!' and her bottom lip pulled between her teeth.

Tig laughs condescendingly when he pulls off of her hand with a wet 'pop'. She's panting already, and if she wasn't so worried about the punishment for giving him blue balls, she'd tell him no more. But she doesn't even have much time to consider that, because soon he's on his knees, shoving her pants to the floor and pushing his face between her legs, his tongue swiping through her wetness.

She whines like a spoiled kitten and opened her legs as much as she can, trying to pull at least one leg free of the fabric of her jeans. _Damnit, I'm gonna start wearing skirts more often_ , she thinks in annoyance when her ankle gets caught at the bottom. His right hand joins the struggle, pulling the leg free, then lifting it to rest on his shoulder, opening her up to his mouth.

His whiskered face rubs against her flesh as he turns his face into her inner thigh, smearing her juices over her skin. Her hands grip the shoulders of his kutte, pulling him in as he opens his mouth and settles it over her mound. He's slow in his job of sucking her in, his tongue teasing her clit until she's gasping, grinding down onto him, her head smacking against the wall as she comes hard and fast - _again_.

She comes with his name on her lips, and he grins into her flesh.

Tig is grinning like a Cheshire cat when he stands, his chin dripping with her wetness. She stares up at him as he begins to tower over her, having never looked so menacing until that moment.

"Apologize," he growls, dropping his mouth to her ear.

"No," she snaps back, enjoying the foreplay. The grip he has on her leg tightens dangerously, his sharp nails digging crescents into her thigh.

" _Excuse me_?"

Those simple two words scare and excite her all at the same time. Gemma swallows hard when the grip fringes on just a little too painful. Not quite there, not to the point where she'd plead for him to ease up a little, but _almost_. And that small, thin line is enough to have a warmth brewing at the bottom of her belly again.

Tig waits patiently for her to speak again while he unzips his jeans with less patience. Her next words will determine whether or not she'll be able to walk back to her car, or if she'll have to crash at the Clubhouse tonight. She weighs those options, wonders if she could get away with being snarky if she plays it right.

"I believe I asked a question. What did you _say_?" Gemma holds her breath as he eases his cock out of his jeans - large, thick and standing at attention with his need - and begins to massage the tip. "Because I know damn well that I couldn't have heard you right."

"I said, _no_."

At first, the man seems shocked she actually went through with the disobedience. But then the surprise morphs into annoyance as he nods slowly for a long minute, a scowl slowly forming on his lips. For a second, she thinks she may have made the wrong decision - that he may actually step down from the challenge as a punishment. But then he's hitching her leg up onto his hip, and shoving in.

She bites down hard on her bottom lip to muffle a scream, her hazel eyes rolling back into her head with the force of it. _Oh fuck_ , is the only thought pulsing through her mind at the feeling of being fucked into submission. It'd been awhile since he'd treated her rough like _that_.

He angles his cock up inside of her, lifting her off the ground and forcing her back to dig painfully into the wall. Gemma curses loudly, but Tig solves that problem by clamping his hand down over her mouth.

"Only good girls get to moan," he hisses into her ear. "Bad girls stay quiet or suffer the consequences."

Gemma whimpers in response, and is rewarding with a quickly slap to the face.

"I said, stay quiet or suffer the consequences."

His breath moves over her neck as he thrusts, slow and hard. It rocks them into the wall and she grabs blindly at the cloth of his shirt to keep from smacking her head against the wall. As he lengthens his thrust, his lips close over her neck, nipping and licking and fuck, he's gonna leave a glaring mark because she's got to learn a lesson, goddamnit.

Gemma moves to offer him more room, and to return the favor, closing her mouth over his collarbone and sucking in deep. He seems tempted to punish her for that as well, she can tell by the way his muscles tense beneath her tongue. But he seems to have a better idea, because His hands squeeze against her ass, digging in as he turns them from the wall, pulling them down onto his bed.

"Fuck!" she growls, unable to hold it in. She doesn't care when he delivers a swift spank to her ass, it's so good - she should piss him off more often. Desperate for more friction, she grabs at the sheets, using it as leverage to fuck herself down onto him. Her blonde streaked hair falls over her face, sticking on her sweaty skin.

His hands rise up to her face, pushing at her hair before pulling her up to him, kissing her with far too much teeth. He bites and nips at her lips and tongue, groaning in pleasure when there's a sharp metallic tang of blood on his tastebuds. He tastes like sex… like the heat even now leaking from her core, like the fire in his ice blue eyes. His scruffy chin scrapes against and burns on her flesh - lights her on fire in a way that Clay could never replicate in a thousand years.

Electricity burns through her and he pulls on her hair, pulling her ass up off his lap before slamming her back down. Gemma pulls away to bite down hard on her own tongue then, her insides sensitized by the fucking.

Outside the bedroom, the party hitches several notches, the music doubling in volume. If she didn't know better, she'd think the increase in noise was for her and Tig - so that the club members didn't have to hear them go at it. The most likely outcome is that something interesting happened - maybe someone passed out with a faceful of pussy.

Tig grabs her arms and rolls them so the she's the one on her back - careful to keep Gemma firmly impaled on his cock - shoving up into her faster and faster, wanting to feel her come around his member. Her muscles squeeze him and he knows she's so close. It wouldn't be fair to leave her like this - no matter how much of a punishment she deserves.

As he takes over the rhythm again, she closes her eyes - reveling in the heat and rush and the dirtiness of sex in a with her ex-husbands best friend.

His speed and force picks up with each passing second until Gemma's body is shaking as she comes again, yelling with her head thrown back. It's barely three thrusts before until he's coming too, filling the condom and oozing out the sides.

He's breathless as he pulls out, rolling off to ease the condom off and toss it in the trash. Her face glistens with sweat as she lays there - slightly dizzy and still coming down. It takes several long moments for her to realize the spot between her legs is slightly sore, and her skin feels as though a single touch could send her into orgasm.

"Learned your lesson, doll?" Tig asks, lying tenderly beside her. Gemma isn't coherent enough to form a sentence, and the older man grins at that. "Good. I hope you enjoyed it too?"

"Huh?"

"Yeah, those'll be the last few orgasms you get for about a week," he says, pinching her face between his thumb and index finger. He kisses her sloppily before standing, and pulling his jeans up. "and I swear if you touch yourself, the punishment won't be as enjoyable. Maybe then you'll remember your place."

"Tig-"

"No 'buts', sweetheart. Sleep well. Love ya."

* * *

 **End Notes:** I will sink with the Sub!Gemma headcanon, idc


	6. Half-Sack

**Beginning Notes:** Sorry for my absence. Things in my life have been so hectic, that I haven't even had time to think of writing. But I'm back now, I think. At least, for this week. So if you have any requests, now's the best time to get them in.

This one's for RedMac69. Thank you for having such patience with me, and I'm terribly sorry I took so long with writing this.

I have been wanting to do this for _so_ long and I'm _so_ glad I finally got around to it. You all have no idea how long this has been resting in my 'to-do'.

 **Summary:** Let's be real - Gemma would never satisfied with a skateboard to her face and a night in the slammer.

* * *

 **Best You've Ever Had**

"Did he tap that?" she repeats, hazel eyes narrowed on the lankier man in front of her. Kip 'Half-Sack' Epps is all long limbs and barely emerging muscle, but he still cowers like a child beneath her hard stare - cornered between her and the desk, with no way possible out. Unless he pushed her away, which he would never dare. Besides, Gemma Teller Morrow was a force all in her own - the entire crew of the Men of Mayhem was nothing compared to her. She may have been a head shorter than him, but she definitely took up more space. _Demanded_ it.

Half-Sack stutters, trips over the flesh of his tongue - rakes it along his teeth, tries to figure out a way to get through this without completely crushing the gorgeous woman in front of him. He didn't know what to do in situations like these. What to _say_. His eyes just kept flitting from the fury in her eyes down to her rack and back.

Despite this, he can only think of Clay's arms around Cherry's tiny waist, and the salacious look in the man's glistening blue eyes. The triumph in that smirk, the arrogance in his tone of voice. Thinks of repeating that same move - wrapping his arm around Gemma's - wider, but just as tight - waist and giving her that same, salacious look.

It's not like he could get his payback by ratting out his President. He knew there was a strict 'no rat' rule, and although he was unsure on whether or not that applied to old ladies, he didn't want to risk finding out.

The woman in front of him seems to notice this - notice that his eyes are taking longer and longer to stray away from her chest, detect the gears turning in his pretty blonde head. A plan concocts in her mind too, and as it does, her eyes take on a softer look. Narrowed slits become innocent saucers and pursed lips become a sexy pout. If she couldn't force it out of him through fear, then she'd use the only other blessing she'd been given in her life. Her womanhood.

Her hand gently cupping the side of the young man's face, her glistening eyes trailing over his face. Not in a way of inspection, but in the way of lust. Like a woman seeing her treat and wanting it. "What? Are you afraid to hurt me?"

"N-no," he mutters, cheeks reddening. God, now _she_ was toying with him, too. It's not like he'd spent the entire trip back to Charming being gassed up by the guys - nudged at gas stations and grinned at by a prideful Clay Morrow. Not like everyone gave him that pitying look as they passed him, especially whenever they caught his eyes lingering just a little too long on a certain pair of jean clad legs. Could this get any worse? "I mean… y-yes… I-I m-mean…"

"My sweet boy," Gemma coos, after shushing him gently. Half-Sack's mouth falls shut immediately, and she gives an approving smile at his ability to read between the lines. Her hand trails from his face down his chest, stopping at the very top button. Nimble fingers pop it open and reveal a very thin layer of blonde chest hair. The young man's breathing goes shallow. "You're so kind to me. Kinder than my own husband. You don't have to be afraid, Eddie. You can tell me… anything…"

"Gemma, I-"

"Yes?" she asks, and the expectancy in her voice crushes his soul. He wishes… he wants… and yet…

"I can't… do this… _Clay…_ "

"Shh, shh, shh… don't worry about Clay," she whispers, sinking down to her knees in front of him. Blue eyes widen in surprise and disbelief - there was no way in hell he had _the_ Gemma Teller on her knees for him. Something that the boys had talked about - although, unlike him, whenever they weren't around her husband or child - _relentlessly_. The very thing that they'd fantasized about, that he'd caught more than one member jerking themselves to, was happening to _him_ … wasn't it? "Or anyone else. Let me take care of you, Eddie. Then you can take care of me."

"Take c-care of you?" he asks tentatively. Gemma places a perfectly manicured fingernail on his lips and her other hand works at his jeans. Pulling apart the button, and then the zipper - with Half-Sack watching the shiny metal teeth separate one by one.

Suddenly, he feels self-conscious. What if she saw him? Saw what the war had left him with, saw the monstrosity he saw when he looked in the mirror? What if she was disgusted? What if she ran and told Clay because she was horrified? Oh, god, he didn't know if he could handle the consequences of that.

"Gemma, wait," he mutters. She's got her mouth on his pubic bone - biting, suckling, licking. Being overall so… perfect. He barely is able to think through the fog of lust, but somehow he manages because he pulls at her hair. "Gem… Gemma… G- _listen_."

"What is it, baby?" she asks, peering up at him.

She won't lie. If this man - this man she was sure wanted her - somehow rejected her, she wouldn't be able to take the blow to her ego. Sure, she's doing this for _information_. That's what she told herself, at least, to push the guilt away from the back of her mind. But a selfish, more narcissistic part of her needs to feel wanted, too. If it were true, and Clay did sleep with that gorgeous, twenty-something bimbo… the punch to the gut would not only hurt. It would suffocate her. It'd…

"My… er… medical discrepancy," he pants, pulling her from her thoughts. "I-... I can't."

"Shh, baby. It's okay," she soothes, unable to hide the relief in her tone as her hand trails from his lips and down his chest. He shudders at the feeling of the buttons on his shirt popping open, skin prickling with goosebumps. Jesus… "Let me take care of you, Eddie. Please, baby…"

Half-Sack relaxes against his spot cornered by the desk, doing as told. Gemma is obviously very practiced at doing this, and he can't help but think of how many legendary men had been in this very position. One of the most powerful women in Southern California on her knees in front them, their hands fisted in her soft hair. Her succulent lips trailing over his pubic bone, down to his… "Oh, shit!"

Gemma's lips are only running down his shaft, planting delicate kisses there, but it's enough of a sensation to have him already shuddering.

She seems to know this, because those delicate kisses become extensive licks along his length. Her tongue pressed flat against his tip and then pulling down into the base. Half-Sack habitually bucks his hips forward, practically begging her to stop being so teasing and just get on with it. Not like they had a lot of time before Clay or Jax came in search for either of them.

" _Please_ ," he adds for emphasis, fingers curling at the base of her neck. He needed this so badly. Needed _her_. "Gem…"

She responds by taking him into her mouth, head bobbing ever so slightly before she pulls off. Just enough to get him a little bit excited, but not enough to do anything fundamental. Wide, glistening eyes peer up at him, and she tilts her head to the side. A single fists works his length while she speaks, and Half-Sack is already putty in her hands. "Did he fuck her?"

"I'm- I'm so sorry…" he whimpers, hips fucking into her hand. "S'my fault… I didn't… he didn't want to… he was… oh _god…_ "

That's all she needs to know, really. Clay fucked that trashy brunette bitch, and let that bleed into Charming. But Gemma wasn't stupid. She knew that the girl hadn't come back for her husband. She could read it all over Half-Sack's face - could see the color drain from him in the same second that his cheeks had brightened. She was here for him.

Oh well. Two could play at that game.

"It's okay, Eddie. You took care of me, see? So I'm gonna take care of you, baby," she whispers, before her mouth returns to his cock. For a man with half a sack, he sure is a mouthful. Not measuring up to Clay in the slightest, but definitely a bit to handle. Especially since it's almost been weeks since…

She moves her head up and down on his length, hollowing out her cheeks to take as much of him as possible. One hand works the part of his cock that she can't take, wrist rolling with each pull on his sex.

Half-Sack has gotten slightly more bold, fist pulling her in by her hair. It's not that he wants to be rude or anything - and only he would have proper etiquette when he's getting his dick sucked by his President's MILF wife - but he can't help it. He's never felt this good before. Gemma's got an unbelievably gifted mouth and it shines through.

She doesn't seem to mind however, because there aren't any sounds of complaint from the woman. Her movements become more urgent - and it takes him a minute to realize it, but she knows he's about to cum.

"Jesus, I've been waiting for this for so long… please Gem… I'm gonna…"

There are a lot of things he would do to and _for_ Gemma Teller-Morrow, but disrespect her by doing _that_ to her wasn't one of them.

She understands this, luckily, because she pulls his cock out of her mouth with a wet _slurp!_ and uses her hand to work him to the finish. Perfectly manicured nails run slightly along his length, hard enough to elicit grunts of pleasure from the back of his throat, but not enough to cause anything painful or damaging. The thoughts of her practice come rushing back to the fore front of his mind, and he can't help but wonder how _often_ it is that she does this for her _husband_.

A skilled hand massages his sack, hardly fazed by the fact that half of it is missing. Gemma doesn't seem to be fazed by _anything_ attributed to his sex, actually, and something about that is so undeniably sexy for Half-Sack. And with that thought held tightly in his mind, his head falls back, his mouth opens into quite a _vocal_ moan of her name, and he hits his climax.

Chills run up his spine and down every vein in his body. He shakes with the sheer force of his orgasm, and the hand he has in her hair tightens. It seems like there's fireworks exploding underneath his skin, and goosebumps prickle along the tanned flesh with every pulse of his shaft. Gemma doesn't stop, however, but he barely registers her hand pumping every last drop out through the cloud of coming.

He doesn't realize that he's pulling those soft blonde and black locks until he comes down from the high, and when he does, he releases them sheepishly.

Looking down at her, he's greeted with the _very_ sexy sight of his come splattered mostly over her cheek. The sight of it is almost enough to have him twitching promisingly, but Half-Sack knows that there's no way in hell that this woman is going to give him a round two. At least, not unless he has information she wants.

He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but no words come to mind. What does he say now? _Thank you?_ That would be too weird. _That was great?_ Too much of a cliche. So instead he reaches onto the desk and hands her a few tissues from the _Kleenex_ box. That's good… right?

Gemma takes them from his hand with a kind smile and rises to her feet, cleaning up the mess from her cheek and fingers. She says nothing at all, simply pecks his lips sweetly. It's less romantic and almost motherly. Had it been under different circumstances, he would've expected her to pat his cheek and call him 'son'.

Half-Sack is ashamed at how much that turns him on.

Stuffing himself back inside of his pants, he waits awkwardly with his hands in his pockets for her to be seated back at her desk. Once she's seated and touching up her make-up, he makes an effort to find his voice.

"I-I… I gotta get that number for the… plumber…" he coughs, nervously. Gemma hands him the card from off the desk and he nods. "Thank you."

"I'll see you around, Eddie," she winks before picking up her pen. He guesses now they pretend nothing happened, which is fine with him. It would be great to forget this _entire_ thing went down - everything with Clay and Cherry and getting blown by his President's old lady - but he has a feeling he'll be dreaming about it for weeks.

"Yeah. See you around, Gem."


	7. Darby

**Beginning Notes:** Double posting for the win. Also, y'all can't tell me you didn't see that chemistry between Gemma and Darby in Season 1? Like? Come on, it was all there. And the way they acted around each other... it made me wonder what was going on with them. So here it is.

 **Summary:** "Memories spoke for him."

* * *

 **you can be the boss**

" _ **You look real good, Gemma. Clay must be keeping ya happy,"**_ he purrs, his voice low and sultry. Gemma looks up at him through the tint of her sunglasses, a small smirk gracing her soft pink lips. Ernest can't help it - the urge to lean forward and kiss her burns bright in his stomach, igniting fires of lust deep within him.

" _ **Does the best he can,"**_ she shrugs loosely, before removing her sunglasses. The sunlight glints in her gorgeous chartreuse eyes, and he catches the faintest hint of flirtatiousness.

Ernie smirks. _But we both know I could do better,_ goes unsaid on his lips. He didn't need to say it. Memories spoke for him.

* * *

"C'mon, Ernie," Gemma crows around her joint, extending two brightly colored pills to her best friend. "Just a li'l hit. Enough to get you… _stimulated_."

It's simultaneously late and early on a Friday night, and the group friends - consisting of Gemma Madock, Elliott Oswald, Wayne Unser and Ernest Darby - had all been hanging out at Elliott's father's indoor pool house. A typical Friday night - supplied with alcohol from Gemma's mother's liquor cabinet, a nice stash of weed stolen from Darby's dad, and a small baggie full of assorted pills that she'd bought from the school drug dealer.

Both Elliott and Unser had gotten too drunk and passed out about an hour previous, Unser on one of the suntaning chairs and Elliott underneath a pile of pool noodles. Gemma and Darby are the only ones yet to fall asleep, but only because Gemma was coming down from her all-day high on ecstasy and Ernie hadn't been as frivolous with his liquor intake.

"I dunno, Gem. Doesn't that shit make ya horny?" Darby asks tentatively, looking to Gemma. She's rolling the pills around in her hand now, looking up at him eagerly. God, she was only fifteen. This shouldn't even be an option for her right now.

"That's exactly the point," she giggles, eyes half-lidded. Ernest gives an annoyed grunt. Admittedly, the idea of having sex with the impenetrable Gemma Madock does go straight to his dick - it gives a promising twitch in response to the offer.

"What 'bout Unser? Ain't y'all got a thing now?" He gives her another hesitant glance and she rolls her eyes.

"Fine. Be a little nazi pussy. _I'm_ gonna have fun."

"A'righ, a'right," he scoffs. Sighing, Darby extends his hand. There's reluctance evident in his movements, but he decides to just get it over with before he changes his mind. Gemma gives him a triumphant glance and places a bright yellow pill in his palm. The pill shakes in his hand as he stares at it, and after a mental berating - "You're nine-fucking-teen, you can take a goddamned _drug_." - Darby finally slams the pill into his mouth. He doesn't bother reaching for the Jack Daniels on the table. He swallows it back dry, wincing as it slides down his throat.

Darby looks up just as Gemma is washing hers down with the alcohol. She grins toothily at him as she passes the bottle over.

"Trust me, Ernie. I wouldn't offer if I didn't think it were safe." He snorts - wishes he could believe her in his heart of hearts as he knocks back a few burning gulps of the whiskey. It was just so hard to believe the same lie he'd been told before - the same lie that always came back around to bite him in the ass somehow.

"Yeah, right. When's this shit gonna work?" he asks. Although he's examining the bottle of Jack, she knows what he's talking about.

"Takes about half an hour. We can bullshit time until then."

"I gotta a few ideas," Darby sighs, glancing at her with less of a 'just do me, Gem' and more of a 'well, do you wanna?' look. She shakes her head in response, snatching back the bottle and knocking back a few gulps of it. His face falls in disappointment.

"It'll be mindblowing when the X kicks in, so be patient," she assures. He rolls his eyes and lays down beside the pool. Patience wasn't in Darby's vocabulary - he had a nasty habit of wanting something done and wanting it done immediately.

After about twenty minutes of mutual silence - the only sound being the Jack in the bottle sloshing as they pass it back and forth, and occasionally Gemma dipping to drench herself in the pool water - the room gets hotter. It creeps up on him, of course - the temperature of the room slowly but steadily rising. He doesn't really notice it until his swim trunks - which had been dry for sometime now - begin sticking to his body with sweat and he's subconsciously fanning himself.

He smolders in the heat for awhile, but eventually it becomes too much and he has to submerge himself in the pool water. There's a relieving feeling of cold as the temperature monitored pool water coats his flushed skin. He breathes it in and basks in it - the chill against his sweaty skin giving him a list orgasmic sensations and shooting straight to his dick. The air calms his frustrated nerves and mind, and a euphoric feeling of completion washes over him. The stress of hanging out with a Jewish girl - despite his father's strict demands - is quickly shoved to the back of his mind as the drug finally takes its complete effect.

Darby finally resurfaces and runs his fingers through his hair, grinning madly.

"That feels good," he exhales, pressing his back against the side of the pool.

"I got ways to make you feel better," Gemma mutters, pushing away from the other end of the pool and pressing him against the scratchy concrete. Darby chuckles and wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him. He tries hard to settle his hands _gently_ on her waist, but there's an urgency to his grip that says he wants her and he wants her _now_.

"I've been waiting for you to say that all night," he grins. She grins back and he tugs at the edge of her bikini. Gemma raises her arms obediently and he sheds the material immediately - casting it aside haphazardly. This leaves Gemma in nothing but her swimming bottoms, and Darby goes to stick his hand down her swimsuit.

"Uh-uh, baby," she purrs, nibbling on his ear. Her breath is hot and warm against the flesh there, and Darby groans. "Not here. C'mon."

Gemma pulls him out of the pool and they barely make it five feet before she's pressed against the door of what Elliott had called the 'changing rooms', Darby's mouth hot on hers. He busies himself with ridding his trunks and underwear, getting himself out of the articles of clothing as quickly as his hands would allow him. While he's undressing, Gemma slips a hand into the hem of her bottoms and lets out a sharp moan at the contact to her aching clit.

"Shit," Darby growls, the sight of her touching herself giving him thoughts that're so unholy he even wills himself to calm down. "Fuck, I'm gonna tear you _up_ , baby girl."

"Try me," she snaps back, plunging a finger deeper inside of herself. Gemma growls from the back of her throat, desperately needing more. The heat of a building orgasm in addition to the heat of the drugs driving her wild. Darby watches her as he manages to get his boxers over his hips and fights the urge to jerk off to the sight.

Instead he presses himself back against her and uses his hands to forcefully shove her swimming bottoms over her hips. Panting, Gemma cups Darby by his ass and brings him closer to her. After hoisting her knees onto either side of his hips, he dips his mouth to meet hers and slides in.

She's warm and wet and hot around him, and it feels so good that it can't _possibly_ be legal. He doesn't bother starting her off easy or slow like he knows he should - just plants his hand firmly beside her head and rushes in. Hard and fast.

Gemma cries out and wraps her arms around his neck. Darby holds her in place with a tight grip on her right hip, slams in as hard as he can. Her back digs into the cold metal door and she hisses at the pain that accompanies it. It hurts like hell but Gemma's too prideful and too close to coming to ask him to stop. So she rocks her hips upward to meet his thrusts and bites her lip to keep from screaming.

When she comes, she comes with his name on her lips. Immediately, she feels the callused, rough pads of his fingers pressed over her cheek and can taste the salt from his palms in her mouth.

"Shut _up_ ," Darby growls into her ear, his pace and intensity of his thrusts picking up. Briefly his eyes flit to where Unser and Elliott are fast asleep, unaware of what's happening just a few feet away. Gemma nods against his hand, and her screams fade into slight whimpers as the impact of her orgasm slowly begins to fade.

Darby comes soon afterward, little ' _hah! hah!'_ grunts escape from his throat as he thrusts into her. He pulls out at just the last minute, sticky jets of his seed spraying over her stomach.

"Oh, fuck," he growls, once he's come down from the high of the orgasm. Gemma laughs and her head rolls forward to rest on his shoulder.

"I think that was the point," she replies, blinking up at him. There's a dreaminess in her expression that makes him feel on top of the world. He snorts quietly into her hair and grips her by the thighs, his nails digging into the soft flesh there. As gently as possible, Darby pulls out, carries Gemma over to one of the tanning chairs and lays down - making sure he's on top so that she doesn't get the mess on her stomach all over him. "Look at you, being the perfect gentleman."

"My life's aspirations, sweetheart," he hums, grinning down at her. She snorts and angles her head up to press their lips together. For a moment, he forgets what they are and what they're doing, and he leans into the kiss. It's not frantic or passionate - it's sweet, gentle, romantic. But when he realizes the depth in that simple act, he pulls away - averting his eyes. "You doin' okay?"

"As good as I can be after fucking my boyfriend's best friend," Gemma hums. Darby grins at her, and she smiles back. "So pretty damned good."

Their laughter echoes throughout the room, and for the first time in awhile, Darby feels happy.

* * *

 **End Notes:** Short and sweet. I'm always open to constructive critism, so please leave comments down below or PM me if you have any ideas.


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